


Ten Lords A-Leaping (Or, in This Case, One Excited Duke)

by thefullbeaumonty



Category: The Royal Romance (Visual Novel)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M, Female Friendship, First Christmas, Knitting, Surprises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 07:47:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17018637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefullbeaumonty/pseuds/thefullbeaumonty
Summary: I’ve wondered about the friends that our transplanted MCs left behind - in New York in the case of TRR.  Certainly she had friends and I’ll bet they miss each other and find ways to stay in touch across the miles. For this story and in my universe, I gave my beloved Lydia a dear friend from back home named Joni (whom Lydia sometimes calls Jones as a nickname).To my own real-life Joni - Your friendship is a gift in my life, as well as the million and a half things I’ve learned from you and the endless encouragement and insight you’ve given me.  If I could knit, I would knit you a squid scarf that I’m certain you would wear with Maxwell levels of pride. You deserve that and so much more. I love you.





	Ten Lords A-Leaping (Or, in This Case, One Excited Duke)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [breaumonts (AnonymousCatastrophe405)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonymousCatastrophe405/gifts).



> I’ve wondered about the friends that our transplanted MCs left behind - in New York in the case of TRR. Certainly she had friends and I’ll bet they miss each other and find ways to stay in touch across the miles. For this story and in my universe, I gave my beloved Lydia a dear friend from back home named Joni (whom Lydia sometimes calls Jones as a nickname). 
> 
>  
> 
> _To my own real-life Joni - Your friendship is a gift in my life, as well as the million and a half things I’ve learned from you and the endless encouragement and insight you’ve given me. If I could knit, I would knit you a squid scarf that I’m certain you would wear with Maxwell levels of pride. You deserve that and so much more. I love you._

She’d started the project with an Etsy-purchased pattern and a dream, no experience and little more for inspiration than a long-forgotten comment he’d probably just said to make her laugh in the moment. But Lydia listens, and moreover, she thinks, mental gears in constant motion. She’d tucked that idea away until she realized as the leaves began to turn that she should probably get started on such an ambitious project if it was going to be done in time for Christmas.

There was so much joy in the activity then, tools and supplies hidden away in a box, in a drawer, in a rarely-used room, every caution taken to be sure this would always remain a surprise. But that was before the twenty YouTube tutorials (“ _…for absolute beginners, my ass!_ ”), the half-dozen failed cast-ons and dozen and a half restarts when she had to pull everything apart and start over to fix yet another mistake. It’s late November and the project she can see so clearly in her mind is little more than a heap of mottled red yarn on her lap.

She stares out the window at the distant mountains, trying to calm herself through her frustration. Checking her phone, she does some quick mental time zone math to be sure it’s not too early on the East Coast before sending a message to Joni, who not only knew how to knit but also always knew how to make her feel as though she could take on the world. And if the world was in her reach, certainly this project was as well.

After a few moments, the phone screen lights up, and Lydia smiles.

*********

They have no shortage of friends - noble, common, or otherwise - but every once in a while she still feels the pang of missing her friends back in the States. Just because this is a wonderful, charmed life doesn’t negate the fact that she left another life behind that had its own positives. Thank goodness for messaging apps and Pictagram to keep her far-away friends feeling at least a little closer.

The familiar tri-tone ring of Skype fills the quiet of the room before her dear friend’s face pops up on the laptop’s screen, pixelating for a moment, then returning. Joni grins and squeals, “Lyddie!” and the smile Lydia returns as she waves at her friend hurts her cheeks, but it’s accompanied by the tangible ebbing away of her earlier frustration.

“It’s so good to see you! You look great! New hair?”

“Of course! I loved the lavender, but it fades so quickly.”

“Well, that shade of red is perfect for you.” Lydia pulls her long brunette waves over one shoulder. “Still plain Jane brown over here.”

Joni waves her off. “Hush, you’re gorgeous.” She props herself up on her elbows on the desk and smiles at Lydia. “I miss you, Lyd. But it looks like royal life is treating you well.”

“We’re nobility, my friend, not royalty. Big difference.”

“Yeah, huge.” Joni laughs and Lydia joins her, happy just to see her friend. It’s not the quiet coffee shop filled with hipsters writing manuscripts where they were used to meeting, but right now, it’s a close second.

“So…” Joni rubs her hands together excitedly. “You want some help to knit a scarf, huh?” Lydia nods, looking down from the camera for a moment to email her a link to the picture and pattern. Joni’s smile fades as her jaw drops slowly and her eyes go wide as she scans the instructions. “I thought you were trying to knit a _scarf_ scarf, as in, a very long rectangle. I figured maybe you were being ambitious with something like a cable knit and it was giving you trouble. This is…” she trails off for a moment. “I mean, it’s doable, but it’s another level. And you’ve never knitted before?”

She shakes her head. “Never.”

“You never did things by half measures, either, Lyd.” Joni looks up from the pattern, brow furrowed. “I’ll help you the best I can, but I’m gonna be honest, I have no idea how to change yarns like that.”

“Jones,” she sighs, “I don’t even know what ‘changing yarns’ means. I’m in way, way over my head.” She lifts the tangled pile of yarn so Joni can see it on her own screen. Her friend pulls a face when she sees the mess. “I know, right? Yikes.”

“Yikes,” Joni agrees.

Lydia watches in silence as Joni reads the instructions in detail, squinting at the screen and silently mouthing a phrase here and there. Anxiety creeps back in by the moment. Maybe this was impossible. She hates that word, but she also hates the fact that she’s had this in mind for the better part of a year and it’s now exactly one month to Christmas, with no end in sight for the project.

Finally, Joni looks up at her again. “You know what, I love a good challenge. I can’t exactly teach you more than the basics, because most of this is all new to me, but I’ll learn along with you and we can knit this thing together. What do you think?”

Lydia can’t speak for the lump in her throat, but her smile and nod say “thank you” for her.

*********

Joni is exceedingly patient, more patient than Lydia would be if the tables were turned, as she teaches her the essentials of knitting.

“Okay, basic knit stitch. Bring this needle up into the first stitch, behind your left-hand needle. Wrap the yarn between the two needles, counter-clockwise for you since you’re looking down on it, then pull that strand through the stitch. Angle the needle downward if you need to, like this.” She holds her needles up to the camera and slowly goes through the motions again as a visual. Lydia nods and tries it herself. “We’re going to knit this row and purl the next one, okay? The instructions say to count 66 stitches for each.”

If these are the same instructions given by strangers on the many YouTube videos she’d watched over the past month of confusion and frustration, she wouldn’t know. She makes mistakes. She needs several steps repeated. She unravels parts of her work in frustration and begins again. But now she understands. Maybe all it took was the encouragement of a familiar voice. It’s amazing to look down and finally see progress.

The two friends talk while they knit, more words spoken aloud between them in these few weeks than in the past year and a half. Theirs is an odd relationship, friends who met online as strangers through a shared interest years ago, happily discovering over time that they lived relatively close to one another. In what feels like a former life now, they would meet halfway for coffee every few months for marathon chats and so much laughter. She’s grateful for text messages, but her heart twists for a moment when she glances up at the screen, watching her friend skillfully knit while she tells a story about the customers at her job. Lydia simply wishes she could hug her again.

It has always amazed and delighted her that she seems to learn something new about life, the world, or herself after a conversation with Joni. She’s learning about stockinette and right-leaning stitches, purl-wise and knit-wise and bind-offs, of course, but as the scarves take shape, their discussions deepen beyond even the light conversation between dear friends to fears, futures, and more.

Lydia shares stories of the animals in the menagerie and Joni shakes her head and laughs over Maxwell’s peacock obsession. ( _“Did I tell you about the time he officiated a peacock wedding?”_ ) They ponder whether Joni’s boyfriend James will pop the question any time soon ( _“If he does, I hope he doesn’t do it at Christmas, that’s so cliche.”_ ) and sometimes Lydia calls out a hello to him as he walks through the room in the background. ( _“Say hi to Max for me!” “You can text him yourself, you know!”_ )

As they start in on knitting the many stitches of the long, long tentacles, Joni asks about their corgi. “So you just have Wigglesworth, then? I’m really surprised that a couple with a panther, pandas, and a pride of peafowl only has one pet in the house.” They look up at each other and laugh at her unintentional alliteration.

Lydia’s smile is wistful and her hands still for a moment. “You know, I realized recently…now that we’re settled in here, it feels strange not to have a cat or two padding around. I’ve always had a cat. It was…just…” She takes a deep breath. “Charlie died eight days before I met the guys. The apartment was so lonely without him, and so sad. It made the decision all that much easier when Maxwell asked me to come to Cordonia with him. I wasn’t leaving anything behind, really.” She looks up at Joni quickly in the camera and waves her hand awkwardly. “I mean, I left you, of course. And Daniel. I do hope he’s okay. But…you knew what I meant, right?”

Joni smiles. “I knew what you meant.”

“So how’s your sweet little feline?”

She angles the laptop screen downward to show the old grey tabby asleep on her lap, completely unfazed by the yarn around him as he purrs in his sleep. “He’s sweet, but not so little. And he’s great. 12 this year.” She scratches behind his ears and smooths her hand across his fur affectionately. “I’m sure any man who saves a stray corgi off the street - which I still think is unbelievable, Lyd - and adopts two wild red pandas for you as a gift would love a few cats running around that big place with you. Why don’t you talk to him about it?”

Lydia recounts her stitches, having lost her place while lost in thought, and continues knitting. “I will, thanks.” She gives Joni a half-smile. “Crazy cat ladies unite, right?”

“ _Hell_ yes”

********

There are several close calls during this clandestine crafting operation. Once, retreating quickly, quietly, from her designated knitting room toward the end of the hall, she’d come upon him backing out of another rarely-used guest room and shrieked in surprise and fright in the shadowy hallway.

He’d jumped back against the door, hand still grasping the doorknob. “Whoa, Lyd, watch it! You’ll scare…” Catching himself, he’d paused for one long beat. “…everyone.”

“Who is everyone?” Still clutching her chest above her racing heart, she’d looked around the empty corridor, silent but for the sound of her pulse roaring in her ears. Before thinking, she’d asked, “And what are you doing up here?”

“What are you doing up here?”

_Shit._

Knowing there was no use attempting even a white lie to her ever-perceptive husband, she’d decided quickly on an evasive truth. Hands up in surrender, she’d leveled with him. “It’s Christmas, Max. You can have your secrets, and I’ll have mine. Deal?”

“Deal,” he’d responded, satisfied.

Joni looked at her quizzically when they’d connected for a knitting session several days later. “Are you in a different room today?” she’d asked, as they each got out their white yarn and started in on the difficult task of stitching the eyes.

With less than two weeks to Christmas and so much work put into this surprise already, Lydia couldn’t be too careful.

*******

The suckers nearly do her in. After two days of working on them, not one is truly circular, and none are spaced correctly. Lydia finally throws down her needles and yarn in a frustrated huff, screeching in a manner rather unbefitting a duchess, “This is _bullshit_! Why did I ever think this was a good idea?”

Joni, who has been the model of patience so far in this endeavor, looks up from her perfect row of suckers two tentacles ahead and levels a stern gaze at her, gesturing with one needle toward the camera. “Because that man is honestly such a _good_ , he changed your life forever and he deserves this insane scarf at the absolute least and the world at most. Because it’s your first Christmas together and this is worth it, I promise. Because you’re incredible and you can do anything you put your mind to, and I know you know that. Do you need more reasons? I have more.”

She shakes her head no and picks up the project again, simultaneously cowed and calmed, giving her friend a small smile as she counts the stitches to the placement of the next sucker. “Thanks, Jones,” she says quietly.

Joni returns her smile. “Anytime.” Looking back down at the yarn in her hands, she asks brightly, “So what do you think Maxwell got you for Christmas?”

********

Finally, finally, the project is complete. It’s a woeful imitation of the pattern’s accompanying example photo, but it’s done, and it’s clearly a squid, so that’s really all that matters at this point. Joni completed her scarf several days ago and has so far spent this knitting session sharing her tips and tricks for finishing up the stitches and making sure everything is in place. Lydia’s not sure everything actually is in place, but Christmas is four days away and when she holds the scarf up, nothing falls off. She and Joni both decide on success.

“You know, this may be the coolest scarf I’ve ever knitted…the coolest thing I’ve ever knitted! It’s certainly the most interesting one I’ve ever owned! The most flair I’ve ever added until now was tassels along the edge.” Joni’s smile is bright and genuine, clearly proud of both of them. “This is a real accomplishment for me - I can’t imagine how you must feel!”

“I feel like I can’t thank you enough.”

Joni waves her hand at the camera. “You’re welcome, of course, but hey, I learned something new. That’s never a bad thing. And this time together…” She shakes her head slightly and trails off for a moment, collecting herself before looking back up. “I’ve missed you, Lyd.”

She swallows against the lump in her throat and smiles at her friend. “Me too. I think we’re overdue for a trip to New York. But you and James are always welcome here!” She gestures toward the room behind her. “We have twenty-two guest rooms just waiting for guests!” Thinking a moment, she amends, “Well, nineteen. One is Wigglesworth’s room, we just started working on the ball pit room I promised Maxwell, and I think this one will become my knitting room.”

“Hey, I know!” Joni exclaims, face lit up with excitement. “We can keep doing this! Not inordinately difficult squid scarves, obviously, but if you actually enjoy knitting, we can meet up this way to work on our projects together. Like a little knitting club! But we need a name…”

Lydia delivers her suggestion proudly as though it’s a royal decree. “We shall henceforth be known as the Knit-wits!”

“Oh, come on,” Joni groans. She shakes her head but can’t hide her smile. “Does Max appreciate your ridiculous puns?”

“Jones, you have no idea.”

********

She’d spent so much time researching how to knit before finally asking an expert that almost all her personalized ads on Pictagram are now knitting-related. She’s scrolling through idly at her desk in a quiet moment to herself when she comes across the perfect gift for her friend - a black t-shirt printed with a lovely woman whose hair is made of multicolored yarn, knitting needles sticking out at odd angles for hairpins, a beatific smile on her face as she reaches up with scissors to snip off a section. The fact that it says Yarn Goddess is the icing on the cake. 

She orders it immediately, giddy with excitement. It won’t quite make it to New York by Christmas, but it’s the thought that counts, right? 

********

The gift-giving portion of this lovely, quiet Christmas morning is wrapping up. New clothes - including several lacy pieces for Lydia - have been tried on and modeled, a small pile of items both fun and practical sit on the coffee table in front of them, and new books are stacked on the floor. Paper and bows are strewn everywhere. They’ve gone through half a box of tissues between them ( _“We’re ridiculous, you know that? What couple cries this much on Christmas morning?”_ ) as gifts both special and simply surprising have been opened.

Maxwell is currently at the Christmas tree, giving his latest gift pride of place front and center. As he finds just the right spot for the ornament, she reaches up again to touch her new necklace - a simple aquamarine solitaire, so beautiful it needs no extravagant setting. The stone is a hue-perfect reminder of the crystalline ocean outside their honeymoon villa, a blissful memory in gemstone form. She watches him hold the ornament in the palm of his hand for just a moment after he hangs it on the tree, looking at it once more, and her chest tightens with emotion. She honestly never knew she could love someone so much.

He doesn’t even bother with a tissue this time, wiping his eyes with his hand as he flops back down on the sofa next to her, their knees touching on the center cushion. She smiles softly at him, thrilled that one of the gifts she was most excited to give him this morning had obviously hit its mark.

“Where did you even find that, Lyd? It’s amazing. Perfect.”

“Ah, Americans love to personalize things. We’ll personalize anything if it has enough space to write a name. And never underestimate the power of Google…though finding an ornament with a hippo couple under the mistletoe does seem like serendipity.” She looks over to the ornament on the tree, the branches sparkling even in the bright light of late morning. “But we know a thing or two about serendipity, don’t we?”

“We do,” he responds quietly, leaning back against the cushion with a smile. She’s eager to share his final gift with him, but she can’t resist scooting across the sofa to curl against his side. With his arms around her, it feels like a warm cocoon of holiday contentment. Breathing in his scent, listening to his heart beat, his hand combing gently through her hair, she could so easily fall asleep. The scarf was three months in the making, after all; it could wait another hour. Wigglesworth waddles over from his plush new dog bed and hops up on the sofa with them to join in the cuddling. After a few minutes, Maxwell breaks the cozy silence. “I still have one more gift for you.”

She looks up at him. “I do, too.”

“Oh! You first!”

Laughing at his renewed Christmas excitement, she reluctantly disentangles herself from him and gets up to grab the final gift package beneath the tree and places it in his lap. He tears at the paper until the mottled red blob of yarn is revealed, eyes widening as he lifts it up to see it in its full glory.

Lydia can see every imperfection in the stitching - the fact that two random tentacles are the better part of a foot longer than the other six, the eyes are too far apart and not even close to level, and one tentacle somehow ended up with three less suckers than the rest. But Maxwell runs his hand across the soft yarn with a look of awe, his grin brightening as he takes it all in.

“This is…where did you even get…wait, did you make this?” His wide eyes meet hers and she nods. “I didn’t know you could knit!”

“I didn’t either!” she laughs, “I mean, I learned. Joni taught me, actually.”

He’s already wrapping it around his neck as he asks, “How long did it take? It’s really…wow.”

She thinks back. “A little over three months.”

Suddenly her vision is filled with a swirl of knitted tentacles as he pounces across the sofa onto her. “Hey, one lord a-leaping! Careful!” But she’s laughing as she wraps her arms around his shoulders and gazes up at him, his eyes glistening again as he grins down at her.

“ _Three months_? I can’t believe you took the time to make this for me. I can’t believe you remembered a dumbass comment I made almost a year ago. I…”

She cuts him off with a kiss. “Believe it,” she murmurs against his lips, before she pulls him closer, the tentacles between them draped softly around her shoulders.

Several long moments later, he pulls away with obvious reluctance and moves to sit up again. “Stay here, Christmas blossom. I’ll be right back.”

She watches him through the doorway as he hurries through the grand hall and past his namesake statue, who is currently wreathed along with his horse in Christmas boughs instead of the laurels of victory. She laughs to herself watching him bound up the stairs two at a time. 

A few minutes later, he returns with a large gift box in his arms, adorned with a massive bow and making a…was that a scratching sound? She looks at him quizzically.

And then the contents of the box meow.

He sets the package on her lap and slowly lifts the lid, a tiny pink nose peeking through first, followed by two ginger paws, and then a third. Suddenly the kitten leaps from the box onto her chest, digging in his little claws and mewing loudly. Wigglesworth jumps down from the sofa and retreats to his dog bed, deciding it best to watch this scene unfold from afar. She wraps her hand around the kitten and carefully removes his claws from her pajama top. Holding him against her shoulder with both hands to calm him, she gazes down through her tears at his sweet ginger face before looking up at her husband. She couldn’t speak right now if she tried.

He pulls two tissues from the box on the coffee table and hands her both, taking the kitten from her to give her a chance to blow her nose.

As she wipes her eyes, Lydia watches as he holds the kitten to his scarf-covered chest, tiny claws snagging the stitches she so meticulously placed. But the kitten is the spitting image of her Charlie, and Molly before him - a beautiful ginger tabby with distinctly-striped legs and a ringed tail - and Maxwell is looking down at him with so much joy and love. Worrying about pulled stitches seems to be a waste in this happy moment.

He looks up at her with a hopeful expression in his eyes. “Do you…like him?”

“I love him, Max.” She reaches over to stroke down the kitten’s back and along his tiny tail. “I’m wondering how you got a cat in here without me knowing, but I love him.” Maxwell hands the kitten back to her and she holds him up to her face, touching her nose to his. He mews at her and rubs his face against her cheek. “What’s your name, little guy?”

“Well, the lady I adopted him from was calling him Oliver, so that’s what I’ve been calling him, too.”

Realization dawns on her. “Have you been keeping him in that guest bedroom in the west hallway?”

He nods, smiling. “We have a kitten room and you didn’t even know it!” Reaching over to give the kitten a scritch under his chin, he says, “Is the name okay? You can change it if you want.”

She brings the little feline up to her face again. “What do you think, my tiny pumpkin pie? Are you an Oliver?” she asks the cat.

Oliver responds with a loud mew.

She grins at her husband, who is proudly wearing the most ridiculous scarf on the planet.

“Welcome to our crazy family, Oliver.”

********

She’s just popped the top on a can of wet cat food, Oliver mewing near her feet and attempting to scale the leg of her jeans with his tiny kitten claws, when a member of the staff enters the kitchen with the mail. A puffy manila envelope rests on top. Lydia thanks him with a warm smile that grows wider when she sees the New York return address and familiar handwriting. Suddenly equally as excited for the mysterious package as Oliver is about his dinner, she fills his bowl to calm his insistent mews and sets about shredding the adhesive holding the envelope closed. 

Tears spring to her eyes as she immediately recognizes the soft blues and greys of the yarn she’s seen in her friend’s hands over the past month of video chats. The tentacles on this scarf are of equal lengths, the eyes are set parallel, the suckers are evenly spaced. It’s obviously a superior version of the one Lydia gave Maxwell several days prior, but made with an equal amount of love. She knows because she watched its creation.

Wiping the tears from her eyes as she wraps the scarf around her neck, she pulls the tentacles of one side through the little knitted loop behind the squid’s face that gave them each so much grief. She laughs remembering their shared frustration and notes that the loop Joni knitted in looks far sturdier than the one she struggled over herself. She looks down at the delightfully silly squid face staring out from her chest and finally notices the note safety-pinned halfway down one long tentacle.

_I hope you wear this in good health and so much happiness, no matter what you do or where you go._

__

__

_Be amazing._

_Be badass._

_Be kind._

_Be you._

_I love you. - Joni_

Lydia’s heart squeezes in her chest and fresh tears fill her eyes. It’s amazing, she thinks, how this little crafting adventure to create something special for the love of her life also brought her closer to a far-away friend. The whole thing began and ended with love.

Just then, Maxwell walks into the room, inexplicably wearing his own squid scarf indoors. He bends to give Oliver a few scritches while he eats, errant tentacles dragging on the floor momentarily, before he catches sight of his wife behind the island. He sees her tears first and concern crosses his face before she smiles and waves it off. “I’m fine. Happy tears,” she promises, wiping her eyes with one soft tentacle.

He nods and gives her an understanding half-smile, leaning back against the counter before he reaches for her scarf in surprise. “Hey! We match!”

 _We complement_ , she thinks, her scarf a mix of the cool blue of a buoyant ocean and the soft steel grey of the sky after a storm at sea.

She simply agrees, however, as she stands on tiptoes in her bare feet and reaches up to wrap her arms around his neck. “I like it that way.”

“Me too,” he says quietly, smiling.

She presses her chest to his, the two squids kissing just a moment before their wearers do.


End file.
